by JC Gatlin
21 DARES
By JC Gatlin
Copyright © 2016 by JC Gatlin
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, locations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
21 DARES
Copyright © August 2016 by JC Gatlin
All rights reserved. The book author retains sole copyright to his contributions to this book.
ISBN-13: 978-1536854589
ISBN-10: 1536854581
Cover images from Canstock Photography, image #csp5296718 and csp372648
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Chapter 1
Something – some faint, unnatural noise in the dark -- woke little Abbie Reed and she opened her eyes. Barely conscious, the five-year-old stirred in bed, turned onto her right shoulder and buried her face in the pillow. Then she heard it again. Abbie sat up, her eyes wide and alert. She listened for monsters.
She knew about these things. Bobby had told her during recess all about what scurried under the bed and hid in dark closets. Just thinking about it spooked her and she reached for the teddy bear lying sprawled eagle beside her pillow. She grasped a furry paw and slid out of the covers and off the bed. The bear dangled by one arm locked in Abbie’s left hand, and jostled up and down as she rubbed her eyes.
Clinton Reed is home, she thought, stepping through her dark room toward the door. Slightly ajar, it brought a sliver of light into her room, allowing Abbie to successfully maneuver around her toys. She reached for the oval brass handle and pulled open the door.
The hallway appeared quiet. The glow of a lamp on a table along the wall threw shadows stretching all the way to Clinton Reed’s shut bedroom door on one side, and her big sister’s room on the other. Heather’s bedroom door, marked with a yellow “DO NOT ENTER” sign, was open ever so slightly. Abbie stepped into the hallway.
Yawning, she clutched the teddy bear to her chest with both arms and made her way to the edge of the staircase. She looked down the steps, into the hollow blackness that was, during the day, the formal living room. She could see nothing downstairs. Just dark emptiness. Which was odd because normally, when Clinton Reed came home, he turned on the lights and TV.
Abbie dropped the bear and reached for the banister. She took a step. A loud crash like breaking glass startled her. It echoed unnaturally through the house. Abbie froze. This wasn’t Clinton Reed. Was this the sound of monsters, like the kind Bobby had warned her about? She peered downstairs, into the blackness.
Two sharp bangs followed, loud and insistent. She gasped. Picking up the bear, Abbie turned and jumped up the step. She headed for her big sister’s room. Opening the door, Abbie rushed in, bringing lamp light from the hallway behind her. It took a second to see in the dark, and her eye caught the silver light reflected from her sister’s necklace. Heather sat atop the covers. Abbie ran to her, and climbed onto the bed.
“I heard it too,” Heather said. She wrapped an arm around Abbie’s shoulder. Abbie looked back at the open door.
“Is it—”
“No.” Heather shook her head. “He’s work’n graveyard tonight. You know that.” She hopped off the bed and tiptoed to the door. “He won’t be back till morning.”
Abbie watched her big sister, who was twelve years old – practically an adult. Heather always knew what to do. She was a role model, best friend, baby sitter and, in a way, the only mother she ever knew. At least, she guessed that’s what a mother would feel like.
Heather waved an arm and Abbie clutched her bear even tighter. The soft fur was a comfort as she listened to heavy footsteps creak downstairs. They rattled the house. Abbie knew Heather heard them too, as she acknowledged it with a quick nod.
“Stay here,” Heather said, holding up a hand and signaling Abbie to stay put.
Abbie slipped off the bed, bringing the sheets with her as her bare feet landed on the floor. Clutching the bear, she followed Heather out the bedroom. The girls came to the edge of the staircase and looked down.
The living room was pitch black – too dark to see anyone moving about. Still they heard the floor boards creak. Someone was there, downstairs, in their house. There was no doubt about it. Heather crouched along the banister railing and scooted down a couple of steps. Abbie followed and came up beside her. They looked over the railing as their eyes adjusted to the dark.
Moonlight shined into the living room window, casting the furniture in an eerie glow and splashing a white rectangle along the opposite wall. Heather slipped her head between the stair railings, straining her neck as far as it would go. Her necklace drooped down. The silver unicorn pendant swayed back and forth like a pendulum.
“What’cha doin’?” Abbie’s voice was barely more than an urgent whisper. Still, Heather shushed her.
“Be quiet,” she said. “I’m trying to see who’s down there.”
Abbie touched her sister’s arm. It felt cold and bumpy with goose flesh. She was trembling, and that made Abbie even more nervous and curious all at the same time. She looked past her big sister. She couldn’t see into the kitchen, but she could hear drawers open and shut. Silverware clanged.
“Heather,” Abbie whispered. Heather shushed her again. Abbie tugged on her sister’s arm. “Heather…”
Heather’s head slipped back through the spindles. Her eyes seemed focused on the wall, and Abbie knew she saw it too.
The butler door from kitchen squeaked, as if someone just opened it. A floorboard creaked. Something tingled like keys or loose change. With it came a solid shape splitting from the blackness. The bulky silhouette of a man formed in front of the living room window, blocking the moonlight. Light glinted off the shiny blade of a box cutter in his other hand, then illuminated his face.
It could’ve been the face of a wild boar or an angry bull or a hateful man with no hair on top his head, a flat pig-like nose and a protruding lower lip. He looked imaginary. Exactly like something Bobby described on recess. Those kind of things that scurried under the bed and hid in dark closets. Now it scurried in their living room.
The white beam of a flashlight swept across the room, highlighting the wall, the furniture and finally her father’s desk. The man moved toward it, seemingly unaware of the two girls huddling on the upper steps in the stairwell. Abbie scooted closer to her sister. “What’s he looking for?”
Heather brought her index finger to her lips, then motioned for Abbie to get up. Abbie stood, clutching her bear. She turned and tiptoed onto the upstairs landing. Heather was behind her, then brushed past her.
Abbie followed Heather to the end of the hallway. Her big sister opened the door to Clinton Reed’s bedroom, not all the way though. Just enough so that it wouldn’t make a sound and the girls could slip through. Heather entered the dark room. Abbie stepped behind her but remained by the door jamb clutching the bear.
She watched Heather run to a window and struggle to open it. After a moment, Heather looked back at her, then ran to the nightstand by the bed in the center of the room. She picked up the phone and dialed someone.
Abbie tried to listen. It was no use though. The man downstairs distracted her. It sounded like he was rummaging through drawers and dumping their contents on the floor. A picture fell. Glass shattered.
Abbie flinched at the sound. She could almost feel his presence around them, as if his weight had shifted the delicate balance of their home. She looked over at her sister. Heather hung up the phone and came toward her.
“W
e need to hide,” she whispered, and brushed past Abbie into the hallway.
Abbie stood perfectly still as Heather moved the table away from the wall, disturbing the lamp and causing its cord to yank from the outlet. The hallway went dark. The rummaging sounds downstairs stopped, and the home fell silent. Abbie glanced behind her shoulder at the staircase, then back at her sister. She brought the table to the center of the hallway and climbed on top of it. Balancing, she motioned for Abbie to follow.
Abbie came to the table edge. Heather stretched out an arm to help her. Abbie dropped the bear. It fell to the floor, landing next to the table leg. She crouched down for it, but Heather stopped her. Rising up on her toes, Heather reached for a cord dangling from the ceiling. She grasped it and pulled.
A wooden ladder fell out of a trap door in the ceiling. It squealed in protest, as two metal spring coils stretched from the upper steps to the bottom rung. Its rusty cry reverberated, like a living thing, around the girls, through the hallway, and down the steps. Abbie looked at Heather. Heather’s eyes opened wide. She knew. They both knew.
The following silence betrayed them. Nothing moved in the hallway. Nothing seemed to be moving downstairs either. Just an intense, unnatural silence that thumped rhythmically in Abbie’s ears, then broken by a sudden pounding up the steps. The man was coming.
“Get up there,” Heather screamed.
Abbie gripped the first wooden slat of the ladder and felt Heather’s hand on her rump, pushing her forward. Abbie scrambled up, and could feel Heather’s weight behind her. Her big sister’s breath nipped at Abbie’s heels.
Abbie crawled into the attic. Turned. Saw her sister climbing. The man was behind her. Bald round head, flat nose with flaring nostrils, red eyes. He lunged up, grunting as he hit the ladder. He grabbed Heather’s leg.
Abbie screamed and reached for her sister’s arm. The man had Heather by the ankle. Heather’s arm slipped from Abbie’s grip. Abbie clasped Heather’s hand. Their fingers interlocked. Heather screamed. The man let out a breath, almost snorting. Heather’s fingers slipped out of hers and Abbie sprang forward, stretching. Her fingers brushed Heather’s silver unicorn pendant. She pulled on the necklace, tugged as hard as she could. Heather’s eyes widened.
The man’s right arm, thick, muscled and hairy, reached around Heather’s waist.
A tattoo of a gray alien-looking cartoon—Gareth the Goodhearted Ghoul!—was etched into his upper bicep. The comic face with large eyes and missing teeth smiled at Abbie. It seemed so odd. So out of place. It was an after school cartoon, not something that big, scary men tattoo on their arms. Was Gareth laughing? It was. It was laughing at her. Abbie didn’t care. She pulled on the necklace. She gripped the unicorn pendant. Its little horn dug into her palm. Abbie clenched her teeth. Heather screamed. The necklace snapped. Heather sprang backwards, down the ladder, into the man’s sweaty hold.
Abbie’s eyes locked with Heather’s. She stretched her arm, hand open wide. Heather reached back. The man snatched her into the hallway, into the darkness. Then the wooden ladder sprang up and slammed shut with the loud squeak of old rusty springs and a brutal slap of the frame.
Abbie let the necklace slip from her hand. She could hear her sister’s screams. Her cries for help. Crouching in the dark attic, Abbie pushed on the wood ladder. She struggled against it, fought to force it down. The ladder wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t strong enough to make it move.
Heather’s muffled scream grew fainter, as if she were moving farther away in the house. Abbie didn’t know what to do. She hit the wood ladder again. Her fists balled-up and she pounded until her hands stung. She tried again, then paused. Something changed. The house turned silent.
Heather’s cries had stopped.
Abbie listened. Her ears strained. She could no longer hear her sister, and that chilled her. Abbie pushed away from the trap door and scrambled deeper into the shadows. She looked around.
There were no windows, no light. No movement what so ever. She could sense more than see. She knew she was surrounded by dusty boxes of old clothes, discarded toys and Christmas decorations. She sat on a wood beam, her bare feet planted firmly on the crumbling sheets of drywall beneath her. She backed-up until her spine butted against more boxes. She felt cobwebs in her hair, and the whole space felt uncomfortably stale and silent. Unusually so.
Abbie jumped when the trap door rattled. The ladder dropped and light from the hallway invaded the black corners around her. Abbie held her breath, pushed her body tighter against the dusty boxes. There was no room to move. She looked back at the opening.
The man’s bald head rose from the trap door, into the attic. Their eyes met. She trembled, held her breath. He reached for her.
“Come here, Pretty One,” he said with some deep, gravelly voice.
She saw the tattoo again on his arm. Gareth the Goodhearted Ghoul was laughing. Its grin widened. Abbie tried to push away from him, but it was useless. There was nowhere to go. His hand rushed toward her, palm open, fingers extended.
“No! No! No!” Abbie dug her heels into the rough drywall. He grabbed her leg, wrapped a hand around her ankle, squeezed tight. Abbie screamed as he pulled. She grasped the edge of a box. Tipped it over. Spilled cords of Christmas lights around them. She pushed the upended box toward the man’s face. It hit him. He released her. She yanked her leg back, as her other hand smashed a green bulb. The glass cut her fingers.
The man grabbed both her ankles. She kicked. He pulled. She hugged a post. He yanked her legs. Her body lifted off the floor, into the air. Her arms tightened around the post. Blood squished in her right palm. Her arms slipped. Her fingers caught the wooden edge. She scrunched her face, bit her tongue. The man tugged, hard, then suddenly let go.
Abbie’s side hit the top of a lower beam with a painful thud. She caught her breath. Inhaled. Turned, just as the man’s head disappeared through the trap door, followed by his arms and hands. Several bangs rose from the hallway beneath her and the floor vibrated with each jolt. The house creaked, followed by a gun shot. Then another.
The attic fell quiet. Abbie held her breath. She chewed her lower lip, watched the opening.
A head popped-up, blocking the light from below, and a face came into view. It was a new man. He had a moustache. Blue eyes. Kind eyes. Kind smile.
“Abbie Reed?” His voice was calm. “Abbie, I’m a police officer and you’re safe now.”
He extended a hand, palm up, as if he were approaching a nervous dog. Abbie backed away from him.
“It’s alright Abbie.” Even in the dark his eyes sparkled. His smile widened, revealing a row of white teeth. “I’m going to take you to your Daddy.”
Trembling, Abbie took his hand. She let out a breath and let him help her down the ladder. She landed in the hallway. The ceiling lights were bright but the table lamp lay in pieces on the floor. The upended table was sideways next to the bald man. His body spread out face down, his arms extended. A circle of red widened on his back, drenching his shirt. A dark puddle expanded beneath him, pooling around his sides and drowning her teddy bear. It rested motionless in the puddle beside the bad man.
Abbie stared at the tattoo on his arm. Gareth the Goodhearted Ghoul smiled whimsically at her. She swore it winked. Abbie shook her head and took a step back toward the policeman’s leg. She wrapped an arm around his leg.
He said something into his walkie-talkie. A garbled voice returned the message, then the policeman kneeled beside her. He looked Abbie face to face, stared into her eyes.“Abbie, my name is Officer Hicks,” he said to her. “Charlie Hicks.”
Abbie listened, but said nothing. She watched him. He continued in that slow, calm voice.
“You’re a very brave girl,” he said. “And I’m going to take you to your daddy, but I need you to do something for me, okay?”
Abbie heard him, but didn’t respond. His face was close to her’s, but his words sounded far away. It was like the whole hallway was expanding behind him, stretching a
way from them. He put a hand on her shoulder, and it felt heavy and warm.
“Abbie, I’m going to pick you up and carry you downstairs. I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded and shut her eyes. She felt the policeman’s strong arms wrap around her and lift her into the air. Her body pressed against his core as his grip tightened. He carried her to the stairs and she could feel them descending, one step at a time. When they came to the landing downstairs, Abbie felt his body turn. They were moving through the living room. She opened her eyes. She didn’t want to, but she had to.
A grey box cutter was on the floor. Its blade shiny between streaks of blood.
And, there was her big sister.
Heather’s body lay face-up, motionless on the floor, beneath the large living room window. Moonlight shined down on her, bathing her still body in a ghostly, white aura. Her head angled back. Her eyes were open, staring empty toward the ceiling. Her neck was exposed, as was the angry gash that ran from her left ear across her throat. Abbie didn’t scream. She didn’t speak. She just stared at Heather’s still body until Officer Charlie Hicks carried her out the house and across the front porch.
He set her down on the front lawn. Abbie raised her head. The night was clear. Thousands of stars shined white and dazzling. Neighbors crowded in the street. A police car was parked at the curb, its red and blue lights flashing. Finally behind her, she heard Charlie Hicks shut the front door of her home.
16 years later…
Chapter 2
Abbie Reed took a can of Seafood Feast from the cabinet and opened the top over the sink. Clem paced along the baseboards, meowing. Despite carrying a solid twelve pounds, the cat effortlessly leaped onto the counter, nudged Abbie’s arm, rump up, and waved its striped orange and yellow tail.
